For most of my life, I was a skinflint string-bean who could never gain weight, hard as I tried, much as I ate.
I used to complain about it, and some of the pudgling diet-conscious women at work decades ago would give me killer looks that said, “Oh, you poor thing, you!”
Well, that was then, when I weighed 145 pounds, max. This, sad to say, is now. My big fat wish to gain weight has come true, bloatedly true, at 213 pounds, 33 pounds above my ideal weight.
Just last week, my doctor suggested exercise, but I don’t think he meant the 50 steps from my home office to the refrigerator and back again. That’s one of the hazards of working mainly from home – a nearby refrigerator, food pantry just around the corner. What makes it worse is one of my hobbies is cooking. Thus, I am surrounded, under siege constantly by high-caloric little devils.
My weight gain started eight years ago, after I quit smoking cold turkey. Suddenly, I had fierce cravings for sweets, especially jelly beans and Dots. From there, it spiraled downward to homemade breads, my own homebaked pizzas, chocolate-chip cookies, caramel rolls, apple pie, lemon pie, lemon cake, lemon bars (I can’t say no to anything lemon). I won’t even list all the gourmet meals I’ve enjoyed.
I have vowed time and again to cut down on all of those sweets and heaping helpings, but – alas – the road to the Land of Lard is filled with big intentions.
They claim as people age, they tend to put on weight, but I don’t think it’s age as much as it is the mouth-watering foods that beckon at every turn.
Every time I vow to diet, brother-in-law Kurt laughs uproariously. Others do too. Someone suggested the Duck-Tape Diet.
“What in the heck is that?” I asked.
“You slap a piece of duck tape across your mouth and keep it there.”
Good neighbor Richard Dubbin relishes a constant parade of sweet snacks and candies all day long. For Christmas I bought him many pounds of various candies, mostly jelly beans and gum drops. And guess who ate darned near half of them before the package was even wrapped a week later? You got it – yours truly, El Lardo. Old Sweet-Tooth Richard is so lucky; I envy him. He’s my age, but he’s so hyperactive, just like the Energizer Bunny, that he can eat like a hog in a trough and never gain weight.
I keep remembering how many times I vowed to quit smoking before I finally had sense enough and willpower to do it, at long last. The past two weeks, after all that Christmas food, determination and will power (I think) are finally kicking in as they did when I quit the evil weed. What spurred me on is I’ve been having trouble putting on socks and tying my shoes, to the point where I feel virtually crippled, all but helpless, like one of those bugs stuck on its back, its legs wobbling frantically to get right side up again.
A week ago, I started my sad-sack diet. The first day it was buttered toast and orange juice in the morning, an apple at noon, an orange at 2 p.m., two ham sandwiches for supper. The following days were pretty much the same, though one afternoon I splurged on bacon and eggs (but only two strips of bacon instead of five and two eggs instead of three). I have banished candies, sweets, desserts from my life. I just won’t make them anymore. That in itself should be a big help.
I lost one pound since getting weighed at the doctor’s office 10 days ago. That’s one down, 32 to go. I read an article the other day that advised people struggling with weight to weigh themselves every day without fail – the very thing I had been avoiding, just as I avoided mirrors. But from now on I’m going to step onto that scale every morning. It really was an encouragement to see the scale read 213 yesterday rather than the 214 of the week before. Yes, a snail’s progress, but at least it’s heading in the right direction – south.
I hope by early summer I am down to 180 pounds, my old self, once again vigorous and good-looking. Well . . . somewhat vigorous, anyway.
If anybody has any diet plans or diet tips, please let me know, and I will share them with readers. It’s a new year. C’mon everybody, let’s all get nice ‘n’ thin.
